


The Grapevine

by Puro



Series: Poisoned Chalice [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Coping, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mild Gore, Oaths & Vows, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Life Choices, basically how it all started, foundation of The Grapevine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20596970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puro/pseuds/Puro
Summary: He gasped and panted as he tried to coerce his muscles into submission, so he could get up and run. The raen’s metal heels clicked against the stone as she got closer, adrenaline pumping through his weary body.It began with them two.Jhimu'slife took an immensely drastic turn once he crossed paths with the Warrior of Light.





	The Grapevine

A tightly clenched fist whistled through the air before it impacted on his vulnerable temple.

The potency of the blow threw his balance off and sent him rolling across the dry pavement. Tan skin had ripped open where the knuckles had hit, trickles of scarlet departing the wound. He groaned, pressed his eyes shut, attempting to kneel despite the injury. Quite quickly on his abdomen collided the tip of a shoe, the blunt force cutting his air short and dropping him on his back.

“Tha’s righ’ ye filthy cat,” a raspy and high-pitched voice squawked from above. Towering over him were three fuming underlings, expressions wild and unsettlingly predatory. This was the price he had to pay. “No one mess’s wit’ th’General!” One of them, a mighty roegadyn, grabbed his frail body and hauled him at the alleyway wall like a popoto sack. He yelped when the cold stone dug into his back, the fall making all his already sensitive nerve receptors flare up. He disturbingly heard things go _crack_ within.

“Azeyma…” The severely hurt miqo’te wheezed a weak prayer. So this is how it ends, huh? What a pathetic way to leave the star… He had always hoped to die with more dignity, or caught in the midst of a grand battle. Black swamped the corners of his sight, nausea permeated his senses, heartbeats pulsed on every wound. He could barely hear incoming steps, but didn’t have the strength to resist. And so he closed his eyes and let the agonising torment take him. _Make it end, already._

A guttery shriek pierced the still air. Shaken from his shock, he snapped his neck back in time to glimpse a bizarre sword cutting through one of the underlings’ torso, the shining blade thrusting in deeper as it ripped skin apart. Blood and pieces of flesh oozed down the length of the weapon, splattering onto the floor. The other two were taken aback by their stricken mate, eyes coated with visible fear. He noticed her then; an au ra clad in a coat of white and gold and black, pale scales glowing against the sun, a mask hiding half her face. She swiftly pulled her sword back from the corpse, watching it fall nonchalantly.

“Wh- you! Yer gonna pay fer tha’!” A hyur underling stammered and unsheathed his axe. He rushed to her, but in the blink of an eye her sword had cleanly cut his head off. It bounced onto the floor beside its former owner in a pool of sticky, bright red. The remaining roegadyn spun on his heels and began to flee, though his bulky stature was no match for her speed. The underling’s tendons were slashed, forcing him to the ground, allowing her sword to be aimed directly to his heart. She straightened her posture, slipped her blade out and flicked it, so that the red stains were thrust off. It looked like a dance — an alluring and fascinating brutality of a dance. Thus, he remembered that he was yet lying miserably there, just in time with her turning to him. _Oh Twelve._

He gasped and panted as he tried to coerce his limbs into submission, so he could get up and run from this other potential death. Alas, it was in vain. The raen’s metal heels clicked against the stone as she got closer, adrenaline pumping through his weary body. She stopped and knelt by his side, reaching over to lift him (against his liking) and carefully lean him against the wall. “Stay still.” Her tone was unnervingly concise.

“Wha-” The miqo’te furrowed his brow, afflicted by the ache _everywhere_ on him. Before he could finish the word, a cold vial filled with a sparkling green liquid was pressed onto his lips.

“If you spit it out, you die.”

The container was tilted and in gushed its contents. He gagged, trying to jerk his head around to fight back, but his nerves refused to move his sore and strained muscles. Her free hand grasped his bruised temples, angling them back so that his throat would relax and pass the substance through. He swallowed, painfully coughed, and heaved. That tasted like shit. “Fuck was that for?!”

The au ra stashed the vial away and let go of him. “Painkiller,” she replied, accommodating herself so they were at eye-level. “This part of the city finds little to no visits nowadays, and you do need to find medical assistance.” She paused, staring at him like a vulture from behind the visor. “I’ve no qualms leaving you here if you start acting prissy, unless you’d rather be smart and let me help you.”

The extreme consensus rattled in his brain for a bit. Dying wasn’t ultimately in his plans, after all, and yes, it did seem overly suspicious that this lass appeared out of nowhere solely to save him, though that was an issue he’d rather leave to when he could again feel his fingers. 

Returning a brief and submissive nod, G'jhimu conceded. The sword-wielder swiftly shifted to his side and laced an arm around him. To say that the unfamiliar touch reverberated each and every single one of his injuries would be an understatement, for the hellish throb that originated from them made his consciousness almost sway to white. Under her strength his weight was supported, steadily raising him to his limp feet, taking note of him abruptly tensing the moment he stood. After gifting him but some seconds to recover from said distress, she guided him out of the blood-coated alleyway with their backs to the murdered mafia members. 

* * *

The road to the infirmary was most shameful. G’jhimu’s suffering had subsided the more they walked, probably due to the administered substance she had forcefully provided. In turn, he began to take notice of certain details that previously were of little import next to his condition; for example, they were both disgustingly plastered in chipping blood and it was hard to tell from whom it belonged with the reeking scent of it on them. Figured that was primarily why they were yet on deserted roads, as walking out in the open like this might draw more than the curious onlooker.

His half-blind gaze was mostly focused on the ground, counting his mismatched steps. The lass was kind enough to go at a moderate pace at least. Still, be it because of the limits he was pushing or the ammassing toll on him, there were times where the rogue’s soul momentarily departed him, and she stopped so she could keep the dead weight from sliding off her shoulder. To make matters worse, he could swear that she occasionally inquired how he was holding up yet her rigid voice blurred out against the distant chatter of seagulls and the ocean waves washing against the city’s walls. The sun was… terribly hot on his open wounds. 

And she suddenly no longer moved, halting their tracks. “... here.” Jhimu recognised she called for his attention in a fashion stiffer than before. He grunted, picking his head up from his slouch, squinting to concentrate on the seemingly abandoned shack in front. This was the medic’s? Facing her with a look that yelled confusion and skepticism, he found no response and was instead prompted to walk forward with her aid.

A free arm of hers threw wide the door before them, and inside the spacious room a multitude of individuals dressed in white swiveled to meet the miqo’s disconcerted sight, falling into a morbid silence. Yeah, this… this was supposed to be a regular sight for an infirmary, right? Aside from the lingering hurt, his heart clenched with anxious worry.

“The chirurgeon is needed. Urgently,” the au ra declared loud enough for the entire room to hear. As a cat would react to the jingle of a toy, the crowd within speedily sprung to action, clearing the way for the newcomers and preparing various utensils and labelled bottles. Two hyur trotted over to take G’jhimu from her arms, and transported him to a nearby hoisted mattress with white sheets. Oh _hells_ they could be more gentle! Hissing as a certain pang of pain trespassed the painkiller’s effect, he was stripped of his torn clothes and covered with a loose sheet. 

“We’re gonna need some anaesthesia, got t’check if anythin’s broken before th’healer gets back.”

His black-tipped ears flicked at the apparent nurse who dared say that in his vicinity. Last thing he needed was to be knocked out before the medics do Azeyma knows what to him. “Like hells y’will,” G’jhimu growled beneath his beaten breath. Though, it was apparent, there was no way he could resist with his nerves refusing to listen.

Shuddering from the icy, gloved touch on him, he made one last effort to twist his neck, now able to catch sight of the scarlet-patched raen by the entrance. She was speaking to one of the robed people.

“Ain’t ye a lucky fellow!” The same lady who had disturbed him earlier nudged him.

“Hgh.” The defeated lad side-eyed her sympathetic smile with barely a drop of agreement.

“Ye would’ve kicked it if th’Warrior o’ Light didn’t get yer ass ov’r here.”

“Wh— W-Wait!” 

On his bare forehead, a hand glowing with a bright blue tint hovered above, ushering a strange spell into his vulnerable mind. Eyelids began to grow heavy, heartbeats rapidly dropped. G’jhimu tried to clench his jaw but couldn’t find the strength to. His eyesight flowed like unstable currents of water, gradually unable to make sense of who these pillars of white were around him.

Nonetheless, in the thick of his vanishing conscience, he could yet discern her silhouette. That au ra, who just so happened to come across him, was standing there up till now, though he couldn't tell if she was watching him or the indistinct figure by her. Briefly, he wondered if she'd yet be there when he woke up — if he woke up to begin with. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any kudos and comments are appreciated if you enjoyed it.
> 
> This work will explore Jhimu's and the WoL's relationship in parallel to the MSQ, as well as the creation of the clandestine network of 'The Grapevine'.
> 
> More info/images on both these OCs can be found in their Toyhouse profiles. The links for those are in the series and work summaries!


End file.
